


Move Dust Through The Light

by CloudAtlas



Category: Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Multi, Multimedia(ish), Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Rancher Clint Barton, Relationship Negotiation, Rock Star Bucky Barnes, Rock Star Natasha Romanov, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-21 21:02:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11952579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudAtlas/pseuds/CloudAtlas
Summary: “Clint,” Kate says slowly as two figures emerge from the house, their shapes so achingly familiar Clint wants to wrap himself up in them and never, ever let go. “Are you friends with James Barnes and Natasha Romanov offucking RedStar!?”





	Move Dust Through The Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meatball42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball42/gifts).



> So, this wasn't what I was expecting to write when I started brainstorming for this. But hey, turned out better than I expected. Yay! Also, this would be so much better if I had the first idea of to make custom CSS skins, but as it stands, you just have to imagine the wonderful formatting I was itching to do.
> 
> Title from [Perth by Bon Iver](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XOm3cGpaqV0) WHICH I AM OBSESSED WITH. Thanks to **geckoholic** for brainstorming help and **inkvoices** for beta.

**From _THE BIG INTERVIEW – Straight on ‘til Morning; On the Road with RedStar_**  
**Rolling Stone, September 2017**

It’s near the end of our allotted time before I feel I can ask the question that’s been circling my head since the interview started.

“You’re all speaking like you’re intending to disappear for a while,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. “You’ve got nothing slated after your appearance at the Reading and Leeds Festival in the UK. You’ve not mentioned songwriting or a new album or going back to the studio. In fact, you’ve not mentioned anything past the end of August. Is this the end of RedStar?”

Barnes smiles at me and it’s disconcerting how someone so attractive can look so utterly closed off. Maybe that’s just the voice of the media-soaked, twitter-educated journalist in me, but it’s true all the same.

“Of course not,” he says.

“But we’re due a break, don’t you think?” Romanov adds on.

“Almost a year of touring takes it out of you,” Maximoff says, ever the peacemaker. “And we’re on our third album with no break.” She laughs. “I’m not sure I even remember what my brother looks like at this point.”

“My hands ache almost constantly,” Lewis cuts in bluntly. “There’s only so long I can go on before my arms fall off and then what will I do for fun? Running? I don’t think so.”

“Darcy doesn’t run,” Barnes supplies helpfully.

“But bands have ‘gone on a break’ before and just never come back,” I point out, diverting attempts to change track, “or been away for years.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Barnes asks, and suddenly I feel like I’ve stepped into a conversation for which I have only half the information.

“That’s true,” Maximoff acknowledges. “But our lives are our own. We’re grateful to our fans, but we’re still human beings. We want space to let go, to be imperfect and wrong occasionally. To not be constantly watched.”

“And judged,” Romanov adds.

And I suppose that’s the real issue here. In this day and age, bands – and celebrities in general – live their lives almost completely exposed. Unless you have the seemingly endless star power of Beyoncé, keeping your private life private is incredibly difficult in this age of telephoto lenses, rolling news, and social media. Fans often feel they are _owed_ insight into the everyday lives of their heroes and the more famous you are, the more they demand.

It’s unusual for bands to get this sort of widespread treatment. After all, there’s normally a boring member or two, right? Who can name all four members of REM? Or the bassist of Elbow? But what makes RedStar so interesting, so engaging, is that every member has opinions and every member is willing to voice them. Cynics may argue then that they brought it upon themselves, but when Barnes talks about LGBT+ issues – or Romanov highlights misogyny in the music industry, or Lewis talks about body positivity, or Maximoff talks about immigration, racism, and representation – it’s hard to argue that they’re being self-involved or that their fame isn’t being used ‘wisely’. On top of that, their music is that rare thing – both catchy and thought provoking – and as a live band they are, to put it mildly, sublime. They’re consistently in the top ten, friends with Tony Stark and on the soundtracks of at least three _highly_ successful and applauded movies. They’ve had three Top Ten albums and toured the world twice. Taking a break at the top of your game seems counter-intuitive but then, history tells us, very often those that don’t are the ones to suffer most in the end.

RedStar are a fascinating band and the individual members, though understandably recalcitrant about their private lives, are down-to-earth for people who are constantly surrounded by yes-men. Yes, they’re at the top of their game but it probably _is_ the perfect time for them to take a break, take stock. And when they come back, I’ll be here; patiently waiting for whatever music they deign to grace the world with next.

_w: Jessica Jones  
p: Peter Parker_

_  
_

_Half an hour :)_ the text says and every time he looks at it, it makes his heart clench.

Clint sighs and puts his phone back in his pocket. Staring at it isn’t going to make the time change.

“You’re preoccupied, bossman,” Kate says as she hauls buckets of feed around. “What gives?”

Kate is the best decision Clint has ever made in regards to this damn ranch. An ex-vet student, Kate was disinherited by her father after she came out and, as a result, had to drop out of school to get a job. Why she ended up in Bumfuck, Iowa is anyone’s guess, but Clint will be forever grateful.

“You remember when I hired you?”

“Yeah?”

Kate puts down the current bucket she’s carrying just to emphasise her _What the hell brought this on?_ stance; hands on hips, eyebrow raised.

“You remember when I said that it’s only really me here, but occasionally there’ll be two others?”

“And I’ve never met them?” Kate fills in. “Does this mean these mystical two other people aren’t in fact figments of your imagination?”

Clint sighs and rubs his hands across his face. They’re dusty from all the yard work they’ve been doing this morning, but then he’s dusty _everywhere_ so it makes absolutely no difference.

“No, Kate,” he says patiently. “They’re not a figment of my imagination.”

Though they might was well be for how often Clint’s seen them in the past year or so. And today – well, normally he’d be looking forward to seeing them again. Normally he’d be bouncing off the fucking walls. But then he had to open his big fucking mouth last time they spoke – staticky, pixilated images through Skype not even _close_ to what he needed right then – and he might have… He sort of. Well, maybe the couple of beers he’d had beforehand hadn’t helped. There might have been crying. There might also have been some very loud and pointed yelling. And it might have been okay if they hadn’t looked _so fucking surprised_. Like every single fucking word out of his mouth was a fucking revelation.

He’s calmed down since – had to, it’s been almost three months and he can’t hold onto anger that long – but the hurt is still there, swirling inside him to mix with every other emotion he’s been carrying around with him for the past couple of years.

He fucked up. Things were fine and he went and opened his _big fucking mouth_ and now it’s all going to come crashing down around his ears. What’s one more loss, right?

Suddenly, Clint wants to cry. He takes a deep breath instead.

“Who _are_ they?” Kate asks.

“Friends from college,” Clint replies shortly. Technically, not a lie.

Kate gives him an incredibly unimpressed look, but there isn’t really a better way of explaining it without some long, drawn out discussion about fucking everything that constitutes Clint’s personal life outside of the ranch right now. He just doesn’t have the energy for that, months of anxiety sapping all his strength. He’s amazed no one else has noticed.

“Go find America,” Clint says tiredly. “You can leave early. We’re ahead of schedule and there’s nothing much to do until shipping starts.”

“The west field fence?”

Clint waves her away. “It’ll keep.”

He hears the crunching of gravel under pickup tires from out front. It won’t be America – she’s in the other barn – so Clint’s half hour is up. Christ, he doesn’t want Kate or Em here for this, but he can’t change that now. Kate packs away the last of the feed buckets and Clint makes sure all the horse tack is in the right place. He’s just in the process of locking up the main barn when he hears voices from the house; bags being flung down, backs stretched until the joins pop. He doesn’t have to see it to know that’s what’s happening. It’s a familiar routine.

“Clint,” Kate says slowly as two figures emerge from the house, their shapes so achingly familiar Clint wants to wrap himself up in them and never, ever let go. “Are you friends with James Barnes and Natasha Romanov of _fucking RedStar_!?”

Friends.

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

They’re right in front of him and he misses them as much as when they’re on the other side of the world. He fucked up so bad.

 

thebstandsforbetterthanyou

> Some q u a l i t y reporting from E! at the VMAs *facepalm*
> 
> Q: So! Is there anyone special for any of you?
> 
> DL: I feel like Joe Jonas today. Is Joe Jonas available?
> 
> JBB: I think he’s dating one of those Disney girls.
> 
> DL: Joe Jonas is dating a Disney Princess?
> 
> NR: Seems pretty likely to me.
> 
> Q: So that’s a no?
> 
> JBB: Just like last time.

#on the one hand #LEAVE THEM ALONE #FOR FUCKS SAKE #on the other #is jbb single? #cos if so #I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE #lol at darcy tho #and nat #redstar #jbb #james barnes #natasha romanov #darcy lewis #interview #vmas 2016 #fuck off e!

2311 notes

 

Everything’s tense and awkward that evening. Normally, Tasha and Bucky’s first day back on the farm is filled with alcohol and music and laughter, and ends with all three of them tumbling into bed like no time has passed between now and college. Tonight Clint can’t even guarantee that they’ll end up in the same bed, let along stripping down to anything more revealing than boxers.

“I’ll do the dishes,” Bucky says, gently taking the casserole dish from Clint’s unresisting hands. “It’s okay.”

It’s not okay. Anyone with eyes can tell it’s not okay.

Clint just stands there like an idiot, cut loose in his own kitchen, watching through unfocused eyes as Bucky stacks the plates in preparation to wash up. He always complains about Clint not having a dishwasher, but Clint knows he likes washing up; it gives him time to think. If only his fans could see him now; rock star James Barnes, feet bare and wearing an apron that says ‘your opinion wasn’t in the recipe’. Christ, Clint will miss this; will miss _them_.

“Clint?”

Tasha’s voice drags Clint’s gaze away from where it was stuck, out of focus, on the gleam of the chrome sink. It’s only when he meets her eyes that he becomes aware that he’s crying. Maybe. Just a little.

“Fuck,” she bites out, dropping the used knives back onto the table with a clatter. “Fuck, fuck, honey no.”

She wraps him in a hug and he stands there, unresisting. She smells so lovely; sunshine and clean air and maybe the inside of a pickup, but under that he can smell her shampoo and her deodorant and _her_.

He hears Bucky dumping plates in the sink, a low string of worried ‘fuck’s getting louder until his arms wrap around Clint from behind, his nose pressed into the nape of his neck.

Clint chokes out a sob.

“Buck,” Tasha says over his shoulder. Her voice sounds thick and her fingers dig into his shoulders. “Buck, we fucked up so bad.”

It’s not your fault, Clint wants to say, but he’s not sure he could form words right now. He wraps his arms around Tasha instead.

“I’m so sorry, Clint,” Bucky says into his shoulder. His voice is rough, choked, and Clint is so sure the next words out of his mouth will be something along the lines of ‘but this is for the best’ that he almost misses when Buck actually says, “Jesus, I’m sorry we’ve been so fucking selfish.”

Clint makes a garbled sound only tangentially related to the word ‘what’.

“You were right to be angry,” Tasha whispers into his collar. She sounds miserable and Clint is so confused. “Jesus, Clint. You have _every fucking right_.”

“No, I – ” he manages to get out, but Tasha cuts him off.

“No, Clint. You have every right.”

She pulls away just far enough to look him in the eye and Clint is honestly shocked by how upset she looks. Bucky also comes around until he’s in Clint’s field of vision and Christ, Clint never thought he’d do something that would make them both look so wrecked.

“Everything you said was true,” Tasha says quietly, her eyes unable to meet Clint’s for long. “We did abandon you, we did leave you behind, we did take you for granted. For nearly five years we chased our dream across the world – together – while you were left here, on your own, having willingly given up your own dream to help out your family.”

“We got everything we wanted,” Bucky continues, stroking his hands over Clint’s neck, his shoulders, his arms, like he’s loath to give up contact. “We got to live our dream _and_ we got you, and you got hardly anything in return. That’s – that’s not how you maintain a healthy relationship.”

It’s a slight exaggeration; they’ve been RedStar for five years but this has only really become a problem in the last two.

“It’s okay,” Clint mumbles, unable to think of anything else to say.

“No,” Tasha says, with infinite sadness. “It’s not, Clint.”

They both wrap themselves around him again, not moving for what feels like ages – just holding and breathing and being – until Clint can bring himself to speak again.

“Not everything I said was true,” he mumbles into Tasha’s shoulder. “I don’t hate the farm – ” Bucky snorts out a wet sounding laugh “ – and I don’t hate you two either.”

 

 **baby bi bi bi** @libbywoo  
“My queer fans deserve to know exactly why I support them, so let me say this loud and clear: You are not alone.” #LoveIsLove

> **James B. Barnes** @jbbofficial  
>  So hi. I’m bisexual. Full statement here:  redstar.com/hdksa #LoveIsLove

**baby bi bi bi** @libbywoo  
“Just because I'm doing this for me doesn't mean I'm not doing this for you too.” #LoveIsLove

> **James B. Barnes** @jbbofficial  
>  So hi. I’m bisexual. Full statement here:  redstar.com/hdksa #LoveIsLove

**so homo** @matimatmat  
EXCUSE ME WHILE I FREAK THE FUCK OUT #LoveIsLove #myboyfriendjbb

> **James B. Barnes** @jbbofficial  
>  So hi. I’m bisexual. Full statement here:  redstar.com/hdksa #LoveIsLove

 

They don’t really try and fix anything that first week and part of Clint is convinced that it’s because Tasha and Bucky are going to leave again. That Coulson, their manager, is going to call about something big and fancy – ‘oh hey do you want to write the new James Bond theme?’ or ‘Lorde wants to collaborate, shall I say yes?’ – and they’ll up and go and leave him behind again. And even when week two arrives and they’re still here, it’s not until Laura and Barney come and visit, bringing their kids and ferrying over Kate and America from their shitty rented apartment in town, that he starts to think that maybe this time really will be different.

Still, it’s not like Clint has any burning desire to bare his soul anyway. He loves them, of course, but he’s a barely functioning adult and conversations like the one _he knows_ will have to happen sooner rather than later are so out of his remit that the very idea of it makes him cringe internally.

So then the question is; does he love Tasha and Bucky more than he hates baring his soul? To which the answer is, of course, yes.

“Christ, boss,” Kate says with a smirk. “I can’t believe you never _mentioned them_.”

She and America are stood next to him on the veranda watching Bucky chase Lila and Nate around the backyard while Tasha laughs at Laura threatening to tip Barney out of his wheelchair and onto the dog.

“Would you have believed me?”

Lila shrieks as Bucky catches her around the middle and blows raspberries on her stomach.

“Surely you have photos.”

And yeah, Clint does, but he’s never wanted to share them. He has to share so much of Bucky and Tasha with the public, even if the public doesn’t know he exists. He wants some things to be _just his_ ; Bucky in joke aprons, Tasha soft by firelight. Both of them shovelling hay or failing at wrangling cattle or curled up in his bed. Those people aren’t James Barnes and Natasha Romanov of RedStar; they’re just Bucky and Tasha. They’re _his_.

“We weren’t supposed to be here when they arrived, were we?” America says when it’s clear Clint isn’t going to answer.

“No,” Clint replies, honest. “You weren’t.”

Kate looks mildly affronted but America just gives first him, then Bucky and Tasha, calculating looks before saying, “Sorry, Barton.”

Clint gives them both a small smile. “Not your fault.”

“Hey, Uncle Clint!” Lila’s voice cuts in from across the backyard. “Can we toast marshmallows?”

Clint looks over to Laura, who gives him a nod and a smile.

“Sure, squirt. Gimme a second.”

So, as per cookout tradition, Clint organises marshmallow toasting for the little ones (and Bucky, and Kate) and Barney tells tall tales of when they were kids and, eventually, Tasha convinces him to pick up his guitar.

They laugh and drink and play long after the sun goes down – country and folk and bawdy dancehall numbers Laura playfully covers the kid’s ears for – and eventually Clint reaches the point where the feeling that this is a patch job, that everything is precarious and scary and so close to tipping into disaster, fades. Even Bucky’s exclamation of, “Oh God, Barton when did you get _this fucking good?_ Kate. Film us,” doesn’t cause reality to intrude too far. Because, right now, everything and everyone he loves is right where he wants them.

 

 **Asoka** 31 minutes ago  
WHO IS THAT GUY????????????  
Reply  633 likes

 **KelleyGH** 27 minutes ago  
Dude I can’t even see that guy’s FACE and I can tell he’s hot.  
Reply  322 likes

> **RedStarSister** 16 minutes ago  
>  KelleyGH YES!! How James&Nat r staring @ him! Loooooooooove!  
>  Reply  261 likes
> 
> **Sam** 8 minutes ago  
>  RedStarSister I THINK IVE FOUND MY NEW OT3 #MYSTERYGUY #REDSTAR3 #REDSTAR  
>  Reply  14 likes

**Freddie Hg** 24 minutes ago  
I’m frankly insulted anyone thinks this is a better version of You Make Loving Fun than the original. Or even a GOOD version. These guys aren’t a patch on Fleetwood Mac. Sit down children.  
Reply  21 likes

> **EricP** 18 minutes ago  
>  Freddie Hg No one asked you  
>  Reply  42 likes

 

“Well, you’ve gone down a storm,” Bucky says out of the blue about a week later.

“Huh?” Clint looks up from where he’s lying on the couch, head in Tasha’s lap.

“‘Dude I can’t even see that guy’s face and I can tell he’s hot’ is the top comment on our Fleetwood Mac cover. ‘Face’ is in all caps. It’s got – ” Bucky squints at the screen for a moment “ – nearly one and a half thousands likes. The comment, that is. The internet thinks you’re hot.”

He grins across at Clint before returning his gaze to his phone.

“The internet would be right,” Tasha says, absently running her hand through his hair but not looking away from her book.

Clint stares at them.

“I thought you were joking about uploading it.”

Tasha’s hand stills and Bucky’s head snaps up.

“No?” he says, his tone caught between confused and worried. “When do I ever – ? Shit. Do you want me to take it down?”

“Can you tell it’s me?” he asks.

“Only if people know what your hands look like. Mostly it’s me and Tash.”

Clint thinks about it for a moment. There’s a weird itchy feeling under his skin at the idea of a video of him singing and playing guitar next to _actual rock star musicians_ like a fucking idiot is out there for the entire world to see. But on the other hand, he lives on a fucking farm in the middle of Iowa. Outside of Bucky and Tasha, the only other people who know he can play are his family, Kate, America, and the other members of RedStar. There have to be thousands of country-wannabes in battered jeans strumming shit guitars online, the only interesting thing about _this_ guy is that he happens to know famous people.

“Nah,” he says eventually. “It’s okay.”

“Sorry,” Bucky says, contrite. “I figured me asking would, like, clue you in that I was serious. I didn’t – I wouldn’t have if you’d said no.”

Clint hates how strained things are sometimes. How unsure they can occasionally be around each other. He’s sure it’ll get easier, but they’re not there yet.

“Hey,” Clint assures him. “It’s okay.”

Bucky stares at him at for a moment longer, as if trying to assess his sincerity.

“You know what we should do?” he says after a moment. Clint blinks at him and out of the corner of his eye he sees Tasha look up. “We should turn that little barn you keep all those shitty tractors in into a recording studio.”

“What?” Clint says, the world suddenly tilting sideways, just as Tasha says, “Bucky…” in the kind of tone that sets alarm bells ringing.

“Think about it! We could record here, and you’d be here, and we can spend more time together – ”

“Bucky,” Tasha cuts in, louder, but Bucky barrels on regardless.

“ – and you could get extra income for, like, property rentals and – ”

“James Buchanan Barnes, shut the fuck up.”

Bucky shuts up.

There’s a strained silence, in which Tasha looks furious, Bucky looks caught between defiant and confused, and Clint stares into nothing because – that’s… he doesn’t even know. There’s a tight feeling in his chest and he doesn’t know what he thinks. The little barn as a –

His father built that barn, with French Jack and Buck Chisholm. Clint remembers it going up. He remembers helping with the lighter planks, he and Barney carrying two by fours across the dusty ground, the sound of hammering loud and seemingly endless. It housed their old John Deere. Still does, in fact; the paintwork peeling and the axel dodgy, but Clint keeps fixing it up because mom had been so proud of that tractor.

It was outside that barn that Barney had his accident; Luis backing up the other, newer, John Deere, clipping a pile of newly bought fence posts for the corral, log after log barrelling into his brother – fracturing his knee, shattering his thighbone, twisting his spine. Barney ain’t ever going to walk again.

“James Barnes,” Tasha says eventually. “This is _not our ranch._ ”

Clint built a little den for Lila in the hay loft in that barn. She loves it.

“I know that – ”

“No,” Tasha says forcefully. “Apparently you don’t.”

“I don’t – ”

Tasha silences Bucky with a look and reaches for Clint’s hand.

“Imagine,” she says patiently, “that someone went to you – about the childhood home _you still lived in_ – oh, hey, let me take this thing that you look like you’re not using, but really I don’t know because _I am never here,_ and turn it into something that will help _my_ career which, incidentally, is the self-same reason _I am never here_.”

There’s a long pause.

“Oh,” Bucky says eventually.

“Yeah, ‘oh.’”

They sit in silence for a long while, the only sound the ticking of his Grammas’ carriage clock on the mantel piece. Clint doesn’t really know what to do with himself, his abiding love for Bucky at war with the fact that this is everything that’s been wrong with their relationship recently. A slow abrasion, wearing away at him; at his self-worth and his confidence and his belief that he’s valued by the people he loves. And he believes he is, he _does_ – the fact that they’re both here attests to that – but on the other hand…

He’s not good at this. At all.

“I’m going for a walk.”

Tasha lets go of his hand, with one final sweep of her thumb across his knuckles.

Bucky looks devastated. “I’m sorry, Clint. I – ”

“I’m going for a walk. I – I love you guys, but I can’t…”

He doesn’t know how to finish that sentence, so he just leaves.

 

**From _RedStar Rising,_ New York Times, April 2015**

“I’m a New Yorker at heart,” Barnes says with a small smile, “probably always will be. But I think I might have left my heart somewhere under the Midwest’s wide open skies. They’re… humbling.”

Romanov agrees. “It’s like standing by the ocean. You feel small, but not insignificant. It’s overwhelming, but in a strangely comforting way. And it doesn’t matter to the ocean, or the prairie skies, what you’ve achieved. To them you’re just you.”

Lewis adds that Montana is the same and Maximoff chimes in with her love of the forests of Eastern Europe where she grew up. To be honest, it sounds like RedStar are secret country rockers and not the hardened New York indie kids they’ve been painted as.

Maximoff laughs. “Apart from James, we were all born in the country, and he was quickly seduced. You can be indie kids from anywhere. And besides, just because we love the stars doesn’t mean we don’t love the bright city lights too.”

“But if I’m confused about who I am, or who I want to be,” Barnes adds, a more philosophical edge to his voice, “those skies will remind me in a way the busy New York streets can’t.”

 

Clint walks aimlessly for almost an hour before coming back to flop gracelessly onto the grass behind the little barn. He’s not hiding exactly, but he wants some form of solidity without actually going near the house right now and the little barn is closest. He’ll admit to considering climbing up into Lila’s den, but neither Tasha nor Bucky would think to look for him there and he can at least acknowledge that he still wants them to find him. Just, not quite yet.

God. This is horrible. He wants this done. He wants everything to go back to how it was before – to three, hell, _six_ years ago; before RedStar and Barney’s accident and having to move back to Iowa. He _liked_ being in New York. It was crowded and loud and messy, and he came across as the dopiest hick ever but he’d had a scholarship, great friends and people who accepted him for who he was. Sure, he technically has all those things here too (minus the scholarship) but – everything’s so _complicated_.

But then, Tasha and Bucky always wanted this. Maybe this would have happened regardless of whether he’d stayed in New York or not. And it’s nice that he knows Laura and the kids so well. He wouldn’t have had that in New York.

Fuck. He just wants – he just wants his partners to understand that this isn’t _easy_. It’s hard enough navigating a relationship with three people without throwing world tours and recording contracts and ranching seasons into the mix. Let alone _ownership_ and _guilt_ and _worth_ and _distance_. Jesus.

“Hey.”

Bucky’s voice is quiet and he stops a good five feet away, like he’s unsure if he’s wanted. Tasha stands next to him, the tips of her fingers hooked around Bucky’s.

“Hey,” Clint replies, his voice sounding strangely hoarse to his own ears.

“Can we…?” Bucky indicates to the space next to Clint and he nods, not quite looking either of them in the eye. Bucky sits to his right, while Tasha moves to sit on his other side.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky chokes out, when it becomes clear to him that Clint isn’t going to say anything. “I’m so – I didn’t.” he takes a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I – I never meant to hurt you.”

“We never meant to hurt you,” Natasha adds quietly, and she shifts just enough for her shoulder to bush his.

“My dad built this barn,” Clint says softly, because saying ‘I forgive you’ isn’t something he can do right now. “I made a den for Lila in the loft.”

Tasha inhales sharply through her nose and Clint can see out of the corner of his eye that Bucky is practically fucking wringing his hands in an effort, Clint knows, to not reach out and touch.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Bucky chokes out again. Clint can hear that he’s fighting not to cry. He wants to reach out and comfort him, but he can’t bring himself to move. “I’m so fucking – ”

Bucky loses his fight against tears, a sob tearing out of his throat. He reaches, his hand hovering over Clint’s knee before clearly changing his mind and putting his palms flat against the grass beside him. Clint wipes a hand across his face and it’s only then that he realises he’s been crying too, his cheeks wet and his nose running in just about the least attractive way he can imagine.

“I think – ” Natasha starts, but her voice cracks and she swallows before starting again, still tripping over herself. “I think you need to, to tell us. Everything. Everything we’ve done wrong. So – so we know… what needs fixing.”

Clint tips his head back until it thunks against the side of the barn and he can stare at the too-blue afternoon sky. He should have been doing things today; fixing the west field fence, looking after the horses, checking the finances.

This is more important though.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says quietly, because he’ll take the hurt all on himself, always, if he can spare someone he loves.

“If that’s what’s needed, then that’s what I want,” Tasha replies, and there’s a thread of steel through her voice.

Clint feels something brush the seat of his jeans and he turns just in time to see Bucky snatch his hand away, looking devastated and chagrined and desperate and hopeful all at once. There’s a beat of stillness before Clint’s resolve breaks. He entwines the fingers of his right hand with Bucky’s and those of his left with Tasha, bringing both sets into his lap so they can hold each other as well; so all three of them are touching. He presses his forehead against their entwined hands and takes a deep breath.

“And then you’ll write a critically acclaimed album all about it, right?”

It’s meant as a joke and he aims for a smirk, but he can’t quite make it work.

“No,” Tasha replies firmly. “We’ve been very, very bad at showing it but Clint: you are more important than any career we’ll ever have.”

 

 **Darcy Lewis Official** @wetshirt  
Hello Montana! So excited to get Real. Home. Cooked. Food. #LoveYouMama  instagram.com/p/HSUndoHSMda/ 

 **James B. Barnes** @jbbofficial  
… and I thought performing at Glastonbury was scary.

 **Wanda Maximoff** @WandaMax  
Visiting family in Sokovia! What should I do? Eat or eat? #DecisionsDecisions

 **Wanda Maximoff** @WandaMax  
@WandaMax Ooh I know! Let’s BLEACH MY BROTHER’S HAIR #HesMissedMeSoMuch instagram.com/p/HjdhHPskeA/ 

 **Natasha Romanov** @romanobvs  
The Killers – Everything Will Be Alright youtu.be/bX14whtcXAw

 

They talk well into the night, until the sun sets completely and Clint’s ass has gone completely numb. And then they move into the house and talk some more. It is, to put it mildly, completely horrible. Clint has never, ever wanted to see either Bucky or Tasha cry and tonight he’s seen them both do so practically constantly. He tells them everything he’s felt in the past two or so years, everything that has upset him, until his voice runs out. Until Tasha, with red eyes and a blotchy face, chokes out, “Jesus Clint, why do you even want us around?”

“I always want you around,” Clint mumbles. “And I hope you want… well. That’s why we’re doing this. Right?”

He looks at them both in turn and gets two watery but genuine smiles in return.

“Right,” says Bucky.

To say that fixes everything would be ridiculous, but it feels a lot like seeing land after being lost at sea for months; they still have to get there, but now at least they can see their destination. There are still arguments, they all cry at least once more, but it gets easier, more stable.

Clint teaches Tasha how to put up a fence. Bucky learns to ride a horse, which goes about as well as you’d imagine a New Yorker riding a horse to go. Bucky and Tasha get calluses from ranching to go with their guitar callouses. Clint gets guitar calluses to go with his ranching callouses. Tasha takes photos of the first time Bucky watches a calf being born and Clint laughs at his expression for _at least_ three days. Wanda and Darcy come to visit, in between falling for British chefs and becoming UN Goodwill Ambassadors and modelling for Givenchy, and rib them for being ‘disgustingly domestic’ before hugging them all so tightly they can’t breathe properly.

And one morning, over a year later, Clint comes in from checking the horses to find Tasha and Bucky blearily eating breakfast. Bucky’s sleep pants are covered in dog hair from when he gave Lucky his morning cuddle and Tasha is wearing one of Clint’s old plaid shirts and nothing else.

“You know what I think you should do?” he says from where he’s stood in the doorway. He’s dusty and sweaty and smelly and – looking at them, right now – so happy he could cry.

“What?” Bucky mumbles into his coffee. Tasha doesn’t even look up.

“I think you should use the west yard to build a recording studio.”

Tasha looks up at Bucky, their eyes locking over the table before, in unison, they both turn to face him.

“Yeah?” Tasha says cautiously, like she doesn’t want to get her hopes up.

Clint knows she’s been writing furiously, in the back room that used to be Lila’s bedroom before Barney and Laura had to give up the ranch. He’s watched as more and more of their instruments have migrated from New York to his spare bedrooms. He’s heard them bickering over chord progressions.

They haven’t found the notebook he’s been keeping yet, though. Which is probably a good thing because it’s probably crap, but…

“Yeah,” he says, his smile unfurling wide. “Yeah, I think so.”

 

 **ALBUM OF THE WEEK: Prairie Skies by Helios**  
Little Barn Records  
★★★★★

This is very far from the kind of record you’d expect from one half of RedStar. Natasha Romanov and James Barnes’ new project, with the enigmatic ‘CF Barton’, is an achingly tender meditation on salvaging relationships and a triumph of beautiful song writing. Stripped down to bare essential acoustics, _Prairie Skies_ is one of those rare things in music these days; a fully coherent _album_. Any one song could be a single and, even after multiple listens, picking standout tracks is difficult. Harmonies reminiscent of Fleetwood Mac blend seamlessly on tracks that periodically bring a tear to the eye; “You said it was okay / that I got what I wanted / but I’m starting to wonder if that’s true,” sings Romanov on ‘Midnight, Ohio’ and you can _hear_ the ache in her voice. In fact, comparisons to Fleetwood Mac seem apt; _Prairie Skies_ feels as if it documents the relationship _Rumours_ couldn’t save. It skirts disaster, but that last corner is never turned. “You came back with the summer” they sing in ‘Three Horses’, and the relief and love are palpable. The other members of RedStar feature as well. ‘Slow Storm’ feels like summer rain, aided by percussion from Darcy Lewis, while Wanda Maximoff lends her voice to ‘Courage, Dear Heart’ while lifting ‘The Great Bear’ into the extraordinary through skipping piano. The music _soars_ ; the images conjured so vivid they’re tangible. As a listening experience it’s stunning; as a musical achievement it’s amazing. You can’t help but wonder what prompted its creation, why these prairie skies are so important, and how it came to be that CF Barton, whoever he is, came to co-create what is arguably one of the best albums of the year with two of the most acclaimed musicians of the decade. And it’s not even March yet.

STANDOUT TRACKS: ‘Midnight, Ohio’, ‘The Great Bear’, ‘Oh, Brother’

**Author's Note:**

> [You Make Loving Fun by Fleetwood Mac](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iNPQx_Bb2Fo). You can totally imagine Clint, Bucky and Nat singing this, right?
> 
>  **ETA Sept 2018:** now with a sequel; [154 Acres](https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/36903135).
> 
>  **ETA Oct 2018:** I now made an album cover, with a tracklisting and singles covers, for the album Pairies Skies by Helios. It can be found [here](http://cloud--atlas.tumblr.com/post/179215244001/album-and-singles-covers-for-prairie-skies-by) on my tumblr.


End file.
